SnowGlobes, SetPieces & That Elephant in the Room
by potsiesgirl
Summary: When Dawson and Joey finally have the sex, what goes on in everyone's minds as the consequences of that event begin to unravel, especially when it comes to Pacey & Joey? Season Six Series, Story No. 1
1. Prologue

**_Prologue_**

A snow-globe perched on the edge of a small table, beside a bed, in a dorm room, of a prestigious Ivy League university in America. More elegant than the usual last-minute-airport-gift plastic snow-globe, it was large, with thick glimmered glass that was perfectly rounded, set on a sturdy, shiny redwood base, heavy and elegant, a faux gold-plated banner proclaiming "Hollywood" stretched across it, below. Inside, the hills of Hollywood rolled, those signature letters spelling out the name that signified a thousand dreams of millions of people across the land, across the globe. Yet within _this_ globe, silver flickers whirled and eddied with the shaking of it, shimmering through solid water to come to rest again at its enclosed floor, covering it in sparkling gray confetti-snow, until that next shaking occurred.

Somewhere else, in this city that once upon a time emerged full-blown from war and revolution, a product of momentous tea-parties and willed into existence by personages proclaiming independence and freedom, a perfect facsimile of another place, a different era, was even now being assembled on a movie set, inside of a non-descript building, on the far side of town. It had a porch. It had an entryway. It had a family room. It had a stairway. It had a history, too. And though it was transplanted here, into a large metropolitan city from a small, bayside town, memories seeped from its makeshift walls, as sap does from a tree – sticky sweet and yet just the slightest bit dangerous. Because sap is the life's blood of a tree, and if the sap is seeping from it, so, too, is its life slowly trickling. But that was beside the point. For this, now, in the midst of assembly, was a typical American house, awaiting its ghosts to return, to bring it to life, once again.

Earlier that evening, in the middle of town, a man and a woman stood by a jukebox, alone together, in a bar-room filled with people. They joked. They laughed. He playfully nipped at her arm. She wiped at it, somewhat repulsed. But she was smiling. They exchanged a summer memory, tossing each other traces of grins. And then they shared a look -- just a glance, really -- that resembled embers banked after a blaze. Yet beneath, errant sparks lay hidden, awaiting rekindling, but now, not to be ignited. So properly doused, she took his wrist in a gentle grasp and led him over to the table where their three friends sat, making them five. And they communed and cajoled as well as conversed and cheered to their libations, anticipating the arrival of the sixth of their intended party. The hours wore on and the five dwindled to just she, the one. On the verge of becoming none, he finally arrived, that aforementioned sixth emerging flustered from a taxi cab that had pulled up suddenly to the curb. Re-entering the bar, the renewed two drank to their reunion, and then danced to a song that conjured up that old familiar haunting. Later that night – or perhaps now it was morning? – those two became one, as had been foretold, all along. And then – only then – did the elephant officially enter the room.


	2. Snow Globes: Chapter One

**_On the Importance -- or Not -- of Birthdays_**

_"This is a very unhappy birthday."_

What _is_ it with birthdays and this Capeside gang? Jen thought to herself, truly perplexed. Dawson's drunken rants on turning sixteen. Stubborn curses continually dogging Pacey, year after year. Now, for Joey on her nineteenth birthday, an epic warring confined within a tiny bathroom. _You have a girlfriend?! I slept with you last night, and you have a girlfriend?_ Definitely _not_ a birthday surprise a girl looks forward to receiving. And whoa! They finally had _the sex_. On a whole, that's usually a fantastic way to celebrate the day you came into the world. After all, it was that very act that had brought you into it, in the first place. But such was not the case here; definitely not when it came to these two. It was all so very _complicated_. Nope, only Jackers had the good birthdays. But that was because he refused to celebrate them out in public. That was the trick, Jen surmised. Birthdays – keep 'em _private_.

Or, she amended, just celebrate _un-birthdays_, instead. Like her last and only un-birthday, the autumn she did not turn eighteen. Though not an entirely pleasant surprise, thrown as it was for ulterior reasons by good old Drue Valentine, it had actually turned out quite nicely. Well, until afterwards, anyway, when she was alone with Drue, that always dependable harbinger of debauchery descending, who brought the former ghosts of her sordid New York City life back, all wrapped up in a small box and an even tinier two pills. But the part with the people and the music and the dancing and the booze? Good times.

This, however, was most certainly _not_ good times. That yell-fest in the bathroom was pretty intense. _I thought you went out for breakfast! I didn't know you were getting up early to go break up with someone else!_ Oh Jesus! Jen could feel the uneasiness growing all around her. Well, from the boys, anyway. A glance to her right found Jack standing there, steadily gazing down, deeply absorbed, at his shoes. She wondered if he was thinking at all about his own fleeting foray into Joey-land or if he was just running through several ways to head out of Dodge. Because that was so long ago and he really did not care about that kind of stuff with girls now – besides her, briefly, of course. Jen had to chuckle at _that_ memory. Oh yeah, that was good times too. For about a second.

Peeking across the way, she observed a red-party-hatted, double-horned Pacey, seated there at the foot of the bed, eyes also downcast. Jen could not read his face very clearly. He seemed frozen into stillness and those pretty blues of his were hooded. But she caught his brief flinch, earlier, when the initial proclamation of that illicit activity first rang out. She had a feeling this birthday was increasingly becoming unhappy for him too, as well as Joey. I guess birthday curses are communicable, Jen thought, grimly amused.

Sitting next to him was Audrey, her head turned completely towards the bathroom, her own eyes and mouth opened wide, her body leaning, as if compelled by magnets, toward the raised voices coming from the other side of the room. Her face exhibited deep fascination. Looking at her, Jen was fascinated too. She wondered what it must be like to see all of this with fresh eyes. She, herself, had gone around and around with this one for quite some time. The soulmate thing was a lifetime affliction, constantly recurring. Something caught her eye, just over Audrey's shoulder. Lord! Is that a crystal-ball on the edge of Joey's bedside table? Oh, it's a snow-globe. A snow-globe? Who the hell gave Joey a _snow-globe_?

And now, Joey and Dawson were tumbling back into the room and she was posing a question to the gang: _Everyone here who thinks Dawson should've told me he had a girlfriend before he decided to sleep with me, raise your hand._

Well, of course Jen would raise her hand, although somewhat timid. You've got to stand by the sistah-friends, even though admittedly, there was some duress here. She saw Audrey putting her own hand high in the air, supplementing that solidarity. The boys were painfully still, keeping their gazes carefully averted, exhibiting that weird boy-neutrality that was actually their own whacked way of evincing a more passive form of unity. It was the "don't tell now so no one will ask later" method of agreement.

Then Dawson, of course, being a guy, was now throwing out the phrase one must never utter to an angry woman: _You're blowing this way out of proportion._ Uh oh.

_Ok, maybe you guys should, uh, just take a breather for a moment, let cooler heads prevail?_ I love Jack, Jen thought, wanting to reach over and hug him fiercely.

_Or we could just leave,_ Pacey was saying, jumping up to his feet, already de-hat-horned and over by the door as soon as he finished talking. Scratch that. I _adore_ Pacey. Right now, she wanted to jump onto that boy with sheer joy. Purely in a platonic sense, of course, past sex pacts notwithstanding.

And yet, _Uh, no, I can't._ Dammit, Audrey! _I'm sorry. I know that Dawson's our friend, too, but I personally cannot leave until Joey says it's ok._

_It's fine, Audrey,_ Joey was now saying, even as Pacey started to protest Audrey's conflicted loyalties. Tossing out a hurried, _Happy birthday, Joey,_ Pacey was now efficiently ushering them all through the doorway, and thankfully, out of the room, firmly shutting that door behind him.

_They are gonna rip each other's heads off_, Jack was saying, throwing a concerned glance at the thick wood slab that separated them – hell, protected them! -- from the hostilities on the other side. They were now refugees from the mighty battle beyond it.

_Let's just go_, Pacey replied, herding them down the hallway, both his voice and his step, clipped and brusque.

What is _up_ with these Capeside guys and their long-ass legs? Jen asked herself, silently irritated, scurrying to keep up with the two male giants striding before her. Pacey was pulling Audrey along by the hand, adding speed, though stumbling, to that girl's own progress.

A very short time later, they were bundled into Pacey's vintage Red Mustang, Audrey in the front, she in the back with Jack, on their way to Hell's Kitchen for some much needed refreshment and relaxation after such a tense and uncomfortable scene. Settled now, Jen finally took a few moments to muse over what had just occurred. Sex. Sex had occurred. Sex between Dawson and Joey. The revelation had been swift, coming down on their heads so fast, Jen had not stopped to really think about it, but this was certainly a momentous happening. In that instant, when the announcement was flung out, she had met Pacey's gaze, startled and empathetic.

As much as the others' minds must have been spinning with the automatic, probably unwilling, imaginings of those prior nocturnal activities, only she and Pacey could have visions of the real thing dancing about in their heads. They did not have to _imagine_ anything. For her, the mind's eye flashes stayed purely on the technical; for Pacey, she knew the view was decidedly more wrought with reaction and implication. It had been a long while since Pacey and Joey were together – they were just kids then and she knew he loved Audrey now -- but she had had a ringside seat to the happenings of that one spring, when everything initially went down. They were events neither easily forgotten nor shed, despite everyone's most concerted efforts to do so. And the matter of sex had always been a hovering specter over their little incestuous group, extending from all the way back, already present from its very first formation.

Jen smiled as a different memory emerged now. Sophomore year of high school. Trapped together during detention. A game of truth or dare that morphed into kiss-swapping musical chairs. Prickly Joey, sniping at her about Dawson, the boy she thought she was destined to love. But at the end of that day, sitting at that library table, her face pained and her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, she had unexpectedly revealed her vulnerability, so poignant, Jen had wanted to cry. _You know, when did everyone become so obsessed with sex? Now, you too, Dawson. If you're worried that everyone's more experienced than you, you can rest easy, because you still have one friend who will probably go to her grave a virgin._ It was ironic to think of this now. Because here, in this car, were the two people that went ahead and willfully redressed that particular statement. For one, it was much sooner – and for far longer -- than the other. Jen glanced up at the rear-view mirror above the dashboard and caught Pacey's eye. They exchanged quick, close-mouthed smirks of shared understanding, echoing that initial glance back in the room, earlier. And then Pacey's eyes flitted back to the road and Jen glanced out the window, at the buildings adorning the streets of Boston as they soared by.

_I'm sorry, Dawson. I don't know what's going on. I have all these feelings. These weird feelings. And I don't know how to say it and I can't say it. I mean, you know everything about me, everything. And I still can't say this. I can't. And I just feel really lonely_. Eventually, that was what had tied her firmly to this girl, whom in most other cases, she would have washed her hands of, immediately. She was so sad and lonely, afraid about the possibility of never being loved. Jen understood that on a deep, elemental level, having been abandoned by her own parents as well, and regardless of all outward armors, she had stood her ground to befriend that girl, and stay friends with her. And now, that girl was a woman, a surfeit of suitors already having offered her their love. And yet still, all Jen could see was that scared little girl, at that library table, slouched into herself, on the verge of tears, murmuring, _I can't. I can't. If I say these things, I can't ever take them back. It'll change everything and I can't do that. I can't._

But we're all grown up now, aren't we? Jen asked herself, going into deeper musings. There was Pacey, in the front seat, sitting next to a different love, trying out a new vocation, perhaps even a new dream, persevering on his own terms. Here was Jack, beside her, her very best friend in the whole world, testing his own wings, treading paths less hardy souls could never stroll. Back in that room, though locked in battle now, separately, Dawson was following his dreams of cinematic fame while Joey chased amorous adventures and academic glory. She, herself, had come a long way from where she had started – the girl that needed so much help when she came to Capeside now dispensed assistance to others, last year in public, on the radio, and as always, in private, among friends. And yet beneath it all, she sensed restless yearnings for something else, something more, from all of them. They might be older, but they still had so much more learn.

Yes, birthdays bring on so many more possibilities. Some could be negative. Age, for one. Each successive year is just one step further into that inevitable march from bright dewy youth to the dimmed ennui of the middle years. After that, it's onward into the bleary distance of a wrinkled life, sagging with the burden of being too long on this earth. That part was depressing. Jen shook herself mentally. Now was not the time to get maudlin about growing old. She was young yet, her entire life spread out before her. She could postpone those musings to later, much later. Besides, look at Grams, still beautiful and still getting it on with the hottie-elderly. Her birthdays were _always_ good. It was something Jen _definitely_ wanted to aspire to. Nope – she had a long life ahead of her. She was intent on living it to the brink and beyond.

Birthdays also brought along more positive things -- greater perspectives, new friends, added experiences and presents – lots of presents. That was the best part. No, actually, the best part was when things just happened, unexpectedly. During her un-birthday, it was a drunken pact made at the end of a dock. She smiled again, this time remembering an intoxicated Joey, insisting, _No, no, no. Stay here. Before anyone leaves this spot, we have a very important question to answer. Where do we really see ourselves in five years?_ And so they exchanged their future speculations – three girls under a night sky, merrily making up lives, far-off and awaiting. She would be a serious student of psychology investigating the true necessity – or non-necessity -- of the male species. Andie would carve out a career in public relations, spinning the world into rosy hues with steely determination. And Joey, their giddy instigator that night, would be a graduate with an Ivy League education – nothing less – living a low-key but funky and artsy life in New York City, specifically SoHo. _Right here, right now, let's make a deal. In five years, we'll get back together, and we'll see if any of these predictions actually came true._

Predictions are funny. Like who would have predicted all these shifts and changes in their motley Capeside crew over the past few years? That she, the former wild child, would grow more tempered? That Jack, he of the definite man-hunk variety, would emerge from that closet, at first scared and tentative, now sure and confident. That Andie, the driven control-freak, would be the first to let go of Capeside to travel across the ocean into more lighthearted escapades. That Pacey and Joey would fall in love, separate amidst spectacular angst, and then come back together again, better-linked as pals, thus proving they had been friends since the beginning, all along, in spite of childhood antagonisms and teen romance. The only one who had stayed true to a singular dream was Dawson, his eye steadfast on both his movies and the girl.

Too bad that snow-globe back in the dorm room really wasn't a crystal ball. A _real_ crystal ball would clarify the future and that would be just perfect, since they all seemed to be having a hard time doing so, in the here and now. Who would they be when they all grew up? What triumphs and travails awaited them ahead? Would true love finally overcome for someone – or some two – in this group? If they _could_ look into a crystal ball, would that glassy swirling orb see all their dreams realized? Peeking over at Pacey's face in the rear-view mirror, she saw his gaze fixed firm, intensely concentrating on the road ahead of him. Surprised, she glimpsed traces of a lingering despondency lurking there, barely discernable. Jen amended her thoughts, now a little sad. Or would that crystal ball sound the knell on some dreams crushed instead?


	3. Snow Globes: Chapter Two

**'Round and 'Round on the Roadkill Highway**

_They do this all the time, right? No big whoop. I mean, it's normal to fight. It's healthy._

Exiled now, their foursome had just settled into a table at Hell's Kitchen when Audrey's innocent out-loud musing initiated a sudden swerve back onto a long and familiar road. Oh _yeah_, they most _certainly_ do this all of the time, Jack immediately whipped back, but only in his mind, his outward attention focused on the brown paper napkin he was currently folding into intricate new shapes, while idly awaiting that much-needed liquid refreshment. Then Pacey jumped in, encapsulating Jack's own line of thinking, to which he just nodded along sagely, non-verbally succinct.

_Ooh, I don't know if healthy's the word I would use to describe their relationship. I mean, I'm all for "will they" and "won't they" finally getting their shot, but for two people to be that dependent on each other for their life's happiness is just—_

_-incredibly romantic?_ Audrey interrupted with a genial smile, clasping her hands affectionately around Pacey's right wrist. Ah…the blissfulness of the ignorant, Jack observed, amused.

_Or perhaps structurally unsound?_ Pacey put out instead, half-earnest and half-wry. More on the earnest side.

What he said, Jack's mind thought as his mouth uttered, _Yeah, I'll second that._ His brain and mouth were agile like that – working in tandem yet multi-tasking seamlessly. He was quite adept at it when he was sober, and sometimes, too, when he was drunk. It was a valuable acquired skill.

_Whoa, wait a second. All of a sudden you're coming out as some sort of nonbeliever?_ Jen was asking him now, keeping their conversation firmly set to this oft-journeyed track.

_Let's not forget who broke them up the first time around,_ Jack replied, tossing Jen a meaningful look, his words officially sending them on a shared, shackled jaunt back down memory lane. She responded with an acknowledging _"oooo"_ and an accompanying shrug that faintly resembled a shiver.

_Jen?_ Audrey was inquiring, plaintively looking to the one and only, non-sibling girl-love of his life to supplement her more idealistic version of this song that continued to remain the same, though now on its umpteenth remake.

_Oh, don't look at me. I'm too far messed up in this thing to have an opinion. I am just the road kill on the Dawson and Joey highway,_ his psychic-twin next to him replied, casting her gaze across the table at Pacey, her tone exuding both a wry resignation and a jaunty acceptance of this thing that eternally withstood bygones status. While Audrey let out a delighted, amused laugh, Jack cracked a smile and looked over at Pacey also, to insert himself into a three-way exchange of bemused smirks, but found himself cut off from that shared empathy when that fellow's initial amused smile slid right off his lips instantly afterwards, his eyes dropping downwards so their lids would conceal whatever sudden flashes might now be prowling there in its depths. Intrigued by the sudden change, Jack stared at him for a moment longer, until he felt Jen shift restlessly beside him. Turning his head, he saw only Jen's averted profile but felt an odd disquietude emanating from her. What was going on _here_?

But then, Emma – she of the apartment-he-must-simply-have – was at their table, platter of drinks in hand, announcing in that permanently dry tone of hers, _Okay, four incredibly expensive soft drinks_. She asked if they wanted anything else and upon receiving silence and shrugs from all around, she tossed out a wry _Didn't think so_ and then took herself off back to the bar. Immediately, Jack stood up to go over to her, approaching her a bit wary, but with single-minded resolve. He really wanted that apartment and had stooped to some underhanded means that afternoon to persuade a nice lesbian couple to rescind their own interest in the place. So he put on his best contrite game face and started to apologize.

_You can have it,_ she said, interrupting his decidedly winsome opening. _Excuse me?_ he asked, not sure if he was hearing her right. _The flat_, she continued, _You can have it. I just didn't want to give your little friend there the satisfaction, but he was right about the security. The neighbors got broken into twice last year. So, if you like, you can move in at the weekend. _And now, she was handing him the keys to that truly awesome pad.

Images of a Grams-free, boy-hottie retreat immediately twirled about in his head, but he tempered those thoughts, and his gait, as he strolled back to the table, studiously nonchalant. When he broke the news to Pacey, slapping the keys onto the table for added effect and informing him they could move in this weekend, his new roommate launched a hearty hand slap at him, which he enthusiastically reciprocated. _Grr,_ Pacey continued, affecting his impression of He-Man or the Hulk – or maybe it was The Rock- to punctuate his happiness.

_Ok, I suppose a toast is in order, though why I should be toasting to you leaving me all alone at Grams' is beyond me,_ Jen was saying now, begrudging. Jack placed his hand on her shoulder to squeeze it, reassuring. He felt bad for the defection. On second thought – nope, he was freakin' ecstatic! A gleeful grin stretched across his features.

_Yeah, and I don't really think I should celebrate something that could be the death knell of my relationship,_ Audrey concurred, this time, the girls coming together in complete accord. Drama queens, unite!

_We're in a bit of a bind then, 'cause we do need a toast,_ Pacey stated, holding his giant, overpriced Pepsi aloft and waiting.

_Well, uh... to friendship then,_ Jack threw out, grabbing on to the one thing that should never be cast aside as bygones, gathering all present into a more expansive and relevant circle of relations.

Ah, friendship, Jack mused, sipping heartily of his soda. As Jen and Audrey launched into an animated discussion of the latest goings-on in Hollywood, via their most recent readings of PEOPLE and US magazines in the student bookstore, while Pacey indulgently looked on, throwing in bits of mocking commentary from time to time, Jack settled back in his chair, still giddy but now reflective too, thinking of the two they left behind in that dorm room back at Worthington. How ironic, he thought, recalling the first time he ever encountered that pair, years ago. They had been in the middle of an argument then, too.

_Hi. I'm, uh, Jack,_ he had inserted, uncertain, a shy fifteen-year old approaching the feuding duo with a small bit of trepidation. He had come to inquire about a job at the Potter-owned Icehouse, at the insistence of his sister, bolstered by her assurances that it was already taken care of. _Can I help you?_ Joey had snapped at him, her arch expression and furious eyes, extremely formidable. It was enough to make him want to turn tail and sprint out of there as fast as he could. But he stayed, he got the job, and, amusingly enough in hindsight, he got the girl briefly, too. Much later, when Joey and he had finally become friends, and a little bit more for that very short time, she revealed to him that Dawson had read her journal that day, violating her privacy and shaking her trust, so her wrath had never been directed at him. Boundaries. The thing about those two was there never were any between them. Yet still, they kept weaving in and out around each other anyway, crossing those solid double lines down the highway they kept traveling down, regardless. It was a road that from that day to this one had led them all down a rather lengthy and twisting path.

Relationships are weird, especially when impacted by Time, its passing seeming shorter or longer, depending on the magnitude and outcome of those relations. And then there was that whole pesky issue of love. Jack paused, brow furrowed, wondering, What is Time, anyway, in a relationship and how significant is love? _Inscrutable. Intrinsic. Indubitable. Inextricable._ Jack smirked now, thinking of the list of _in-_ words he was keeping, just for the hell of it, off of that portable Merriam-Webster desk calendar that was Jen's silly secret non-birthday present to him this year. It was actually useful after all. He and Jen had been making up silly vocabulary word games since high school when they both lived at Gram's and spent days on end cramming for the PSATs and then later, for the real thing, those irksome SATs. She had sprung some he- words at him just last week, so now, he was preparing for the inevitable next round in their running vocabulary duel. Even though they had gone through those twenty-six letters several times already, Jen kept upping the ante on each successive go-round, having recently thrown letter-suffixes into the mix. But these new words at his disposal were also serving now to anchor all of his random thoughts as well.

Anchor Number One: _Inscrutable: not readily investigated, interpreted, or understood._

Time's effects were an _inscrutable _aspect of relationships, as was love. Way back when, in what presently felt like a century past, he had crushed pretty hard on Joey. Or rather, perhaps, the_ idea_ of her. They both loved art and artists, and it was still a common bond between them, though they were careful not to expound overmuch on artistic topics in front of the others, who were, in varying degrees, less enthusiastic about those subjects. Jack cast back now to that full-moon night they had worked late at the Icehouse and that old codger with his never-ending cups of coffee. When the man finally departed, he amazingly left a 100 tip in his wake. _Oh my God, Jack! We're rich!_ Joey had exclaimed. And then, they found the note he left on that napkin. Jack still remembered it, every word, having been so moved by them he had committed it to memory. _By moonlight many years ago my true love did I know, and by that moon I begged her wait but that night did she go. So, young lovers, heed my words, don't squander love away. The moon is changing ever still, soon comes the light of day._ His impulses _inscrutable_, even to himself, he had kissed Joey beneath that full moon, unwittingly starting them off on a chain reaction of events, kick-starting varying permutations within their little incestuous group. All that partner-switching was like square dancing, Eros-style. Doe-see-_doh_!

Anchor Number Two: _Intrinsic: belonging to the essential nature or constitution of a thing._

Though Time was _intrinsic_ to a long-lasting relationship, again, so was love, and there were so many different kinds of love. As always, there was the romantic, which often got top billing when it came to exhaustive epics and even wistful memory, but there was also the platonic, which was often the truest of all. And everlasting. And less angst-ridden too. In his humble opinion, anyway. Jack smiled, remembering that night of the high school dance, when Andie had set him up with a different girl, to which he agreed, only so he could take his mind off of the one he should not have kissed in the first place. _Don't be silly. It will be fun, okay? Besides, it's time we got you out and you met some of Capeside's cuties. And who knows? You might meet the woman of your dreams tonight._ That introduction changed his life, though at the time, he had not known it. _Jen, this is Jack, my brother,_ Andie said to which Jen responded, _Hi Jack, Andie's brother. Um, it's just Jack,_ he had amended. And then later, _Hey, you know, Jack, um, I had a really good time tonight and I think I've got you to thank for that, _Jen told him. _Why? I didn't do anything,_ he had replied, chagrined. And she had answered, smiling, _No but when you were with me, you did a really good job of pretending you didn't want to be with somebody else. _Yet all these years later, romantic overtones completely discarded, thankfully, Jack felt Jen was an _intrinsic_ part of him, and he, of her, and never wanted to be with somebody else. Well, except for sex, of course. Oh, and a new boyfriend would be nice.

Anchor Number Three: _Indubitable: too evident to be doubted._

It is an _indubitable_ fact that true love relationships must begin from within, and that included accepting who and why you love. His own epiphany was forced out of him in Mr. Peterson's class, during that damned assignment to write a poem "critical to your being." Humiliated that day, he was shoved suddenly out of a closet he was too scared to admit he was hiding within. And Pacey, the acknowledged Capeside goof-ball screw-up, was there to stand beside him, though Jack had been none-too-happy about it, at first. _I can fight my own battles. You know, I didn't need you to make a spectacle out of this whole thing, _he had thundered at him. At Pacey's, _Whoa, whoa, whoa! Stop right there, Jack. I thought I was doing you a favor in there,_ Jack snapped back, _Well, you weren't. Look, I didn't need a hero. I recognize it's an addiction of yours but this is one instance when you just should have kept your nose out of it!_

Yet Pacey was emerging from his own closet at the time too – that of erroneous past expectations - with the guiding resolute hand of his own sister, Andie. Jack would never forget that night in the hallway, when Andie hovered between dangerous fantasy and a disappearing reality, and Pacey's voice as he implored, _Open this door, come out, and choose me. You are so special. You give so much to everybody around you, and you know what, Andie? I need you more than Tim does and so does Jack. My life began when I met you Andie, and you never gave up on me so I'm not going to give up on you. So please, Andie, for the love of God, come out here and choose me. Please._ They had loved fiercely and that love had mellowed and changed throughout the years – ah, Time's influence! – and was now an easy, comfortable affection of two people who had once shared an intense, still precious, first love. That kind of love was _indubitable_, and lasting, even in a changed form of it. And so was the type of friendship that Pacey had offered back then, and still engaged in now, Jack mused, stealing a glance up at his new roommate across the table, whose ear was bent to capture a whispered saucy something from his present girlfriend, a wicked smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth.

Anchor Number Four: _Inextricable: forming a maze or tangle from which it is impossible to get free._

All of these ponderings had Jack considering the _inextricable_ ties that bound them all, those from Capeside, and now, also, this merry blonde girl across the way, of whom he had grown quite fond. Relationships were always constantly shifting and changing, Time doing its crazy number on their evolutions, but so, too, on the hearts involved. Earlier, that very afternoon, Jack had met up with Dawson at his movie set to help him arrange a special porch scene – twinkling lights cascading from the eaves, candles perched all around, and an enormous gift basket, replete with champagne - for Joey's birthday. When he first set eyes on the mock Leery house that Dawson had created - that had been assembled for a horror movie, of all things! But there was a strange circular _rightness_ to that, if one really thought about it – he felt the shiver of sudden memory run through him. He never felt such apprehension at the actual house back at Capeside, which was a much warmer and welcoming reality. Again, it was the _idea_ of it, as if the spirits of their entangled histories had somehow followed them here, to this illusory facsimile of a house they all knew - with its mock walls and its bedroom doors that led to nowhere - stalking them still, despite geography.

A long-dormant whisper from Abby Morgan, their now-deceased sophomore year tormenter, wafted into his mind's ear, reading aloud from a lost note that was not meant to be found by the likes of her: _"Sex changes everything, and I think we should take some time before anything happens again."_ It was as if all those years in-between instantly collapsed back onto themselves to bring then and now flush up against one another. _Tell the truth, Joey!_ Dawson was insisting. _No **you** tell the truth! _Joey had spat back. In the end, neither of them had come up with that particularly truthful and contemplative insight. It had been Pacey, in hindsight, with regards to Andie. And later, armed with foresight, he was much more vigilant, with Joey.

Yet they were back where they had started, Jack thought, his mind's eye now once again in that dorm room with all of them present as yet another intimate encounter was revealed to them, with all of its sure-to-be crazy consequences. The same old song, all right, just with the stakes raised higher. Like his and Jen's vocabulary games, but _not_. Oh, the tangled web into which they were all interwoven! And the many aspects of love that had emerged from it, though not without struggle. Pausing now, Jack frowned a bit. How did his musings on Time and relationships bring him back full circle to love? Yup, there was the answer to his initial question, the one that started him down this reflective path - _What is Time, anyway, in a relationship, and how significant is love?_ Time and love and relationships were _inextricable_.

"You've been awfully quiet," Pacey was now commenting, looking at him, bemused.

"Just thinking about stuff," Jack replied, shrugging.

"Ooohhh! That sounds dangerous! Anything we should be wary of, my darling?" Jen asked him, smiling and then poking him in the shoulder.

"Yeah – coming up with all of the different scenarios you can craft to lure cute hottie-boys into your new lair?" Audrey asked, grinning.

"Why, of course!" Jack answered, readily jumping onto this much more juicy and interesting topic, far different from the more meditative one he had just been indulging in. "And a sticky web I shall weave for the lads, too!"

"That was truly bad, Jackers. I revoke your license to wit, for now" Jen stated, wrinkling her little nose into a grimace.

"And who made you Queen of the Quips" Jack asked, turning to face her, an eyebrow raised.

"This is so much more fun than what we left behind us in my dorm room!" Audrey pronounced. Getting up, she then announced, "Got to go to the little girls' room. Don't do anything too fun while I'm gone!" Leaning down, she planted a quick wet smack onto Pacey's lips and then grinned before leaving the table.

Pacey chuckled and then said, once she was out of earshot, "That was _definitely_ a promise for a later scenario that I can look forward to, especially after all of _this_."

"Ah! And so we return to a much more scintillating subject at hand!" Jack said, pouncing.

The boys laughed, and taking her cue from them, Jen ventured forth and asked"So..um..are we gonna talk about" her voice dropped into an exaggerated whisper "-_the elephant_"?

"Ah! _The elephant_," Jack concurred, nodding.

"Is that some strange code you guys got going there" Pacey inquired, again bemused.

"No, _you know_, not to get overly _pachadermy_ on you, but back there-" Jen inclined her head as if that dorm room was just over her shoulder instead of across town. "-we just bore somber eyewitness to a rather dramatic announcement of – Jackers…please"

"Soulmate sex."

"Please," Pacey said, making a face, "Don't remind me."

"So it _is_ about-" Jack continued, his own tone dropping a register into his own overstated murmur, "-_the elephant_."

"Plain English, not Jenna-Jacky code, please" Pacey said, a trace impatient.

"An elephant in a room – metaphorically-speaking – is a subject of which you feel great discomfort, thus rendering it invisible," Jen interceded, utilizing her best college-lecturer impression. "Yet one cannot maneuver around that elephant which cannot, by all logical thought, be rendered invisible. Because even if invisible, its presence is heavily felt, regardless."

"Did Boston Bay addle your thinking, Lindley? Truly, you have a dizzying intellect."

"Princess Bride" Jack proclaimed. "New game! Quotes from famous movies that we inadvertently use in daily conversation!"

"Game over," Pacey stated firmly, before they could even get started, now getting to his feet. "I'm gonna go collect my tantalizing girlfriend over there-" He pointed at Audrey, who had apparently emerged from the bathroom and was perusing the many offerings of the jukebox several feet away, "-and what say we all head back over to Grams"

"Sure, Pace," Jen agreed, her voice quiet now, her tone bordering on somber. Jack briefly reflected on the oddity of her sudden retreat, then barreled on anyway, cheerful.

"Don't trip over the elephant, Pace" Jack called after him, grinning. Pacey flipped him his friendliest bird as he walked away, provoking a hearty laugh.

Glancing at Jen beside him, intent on drawing her into his mirth as well, he found her watchful and pensive instead. Looking back up to follow her stare, he saw Pacey now engulfing Audrey in an embrace over by the jukebox. Yet his unguarded gaze was definitely preoccupied, curiously far-away from this instant, perhaps even, someplace else. Suddenly aware, Pacey met those two pairs of eyes and shifted quickly into a devilish grin, winking at the both of them as if what they had just glimpsed had never been. Jack grinned back and outwardly tossed him a jaunty wave, but added now, _And don't get trampled, either,_ much more earnestly, in his mind.


	4. Snow Globes: Chapter Three

**_Sex…and Other Corresponding Things_**

_"True. I mean, you _**_did_**_ just nude-up with the guy. Oh, I'm sorry, or did you guys do it through a hole in a sheet because that's very Dawson and Joey to me,"_ Audrey threw out, along with a careless shrug, in answer to Joey's explanation that "Dear Dawson" was a cold beginning to a sure-to-be epic and emotive e-mail correspondence. Though as Audrey busily put away the books she had yet to crack even though it was already nearing the end of two weeks of classes at Worthington she still inwardly maintained that not sending it at all was wiser. She was sticking to her earlier assertion that _E-mail expression is the scourge of the modern age._

_Again, shut up,_ Joey cracked back, her sardonic remark at odds with her distressed expression. Sarcasm jumped quickly from her tongue, automatic; however, her face had yet to catch up with her mouth. Anguished, her head in her hands, Joey hunched, defeated, over her glaring lap-top computer screen. You would think Armageddon was upon us, Audrey thought to herself, wry. But then again, by all accounts, such life-altering cosmic calamities were par for the course between Dawson and Joey.

_Sorry. Ok, so what do you want to say?_ Audrey asked, shifting quickly to concerned friend mode.

_I don't know. I mean, I don't like the way things ended, and I want him to know that I care, but I also want to hold on to my righteous indignation,_ Joey explained, her dark eyes beseeching Audrey for advice. Or perhaps absolution.

_Obviously,_ Audrey observed, withholding both. But then, she suggested, _Well, why don't you just pick up the phone and call him?_ Pausing, she waited for the expected Joey answer to this most apparent of Audrey solutions.

_I'm afraid we'll just fall right back into our old patterns. Trust me. E-mail is a far safer alternative at the moment,_ Joey replied. A far safer alternative. _If I had bet myself, I would have won a million dollars,_Audrey mused, unable to shove down a whispering snicker at the back of her mind. Of course, Joey would go for the _safest_ route.

_Ok, if you must do this, then I say that you go for it,_ Audrey told her, yielding to Joey's non-confrontational inclinations, adding, _You know, be gooey and be embarrassing, but most of all, just be real, Joey. Say all of the things that you can't say to his face, the whole nine._

_You're right. I better get to work,_ Joey agreed, with more resolve. _But...thank you, Audrey._

_No problem, Sister Christian,_ Audrey chirped, the expression dropping from her lips easily. Hearing herself say it aloud, she briefly mocked herself for becoming one of those girls that spends so much time with her boyfriend, she unconsciously parrots his standard expressions and choice phrases. This was one of Pacey's more distinctive ones.

Out of the corner of her eye, Audrey caught a brief stiffening of Joey's shoulders – very slight but enough to know that the words had some effect on her. An instant of rigidity, then a shrug, as if she were sloughing off some unwanted frisson of memory. Audrey's eyes narrowed for a moment and she went still, her gaze intent and watchful. But Joey was fixated on the lap-top screen, her energies focused forward on her missive to Dawson, that continuing saga of soul-mate sex and its implications an all-encompassing priority.

So Audrey settled herself onto her bed, falling back against her fuzzy pink headrest, her thoughts sliding instead to a scruffily-handsome, dark-haired young man with a wicked grin, devilish blue eyes, and enormously talented hands…among other things.

XXXXX

As she afternoon-strolled through the halls at Boston Bay College, in search of the large lecture hall where Professor Freeman's latest presentation of American popular culture was set to begin, that morning's exchange lingered, stubborn, in Audrey's mind.

_It was a mistake. I was tired. I clicked on the wrong address,_ Joey said, her voice on the verge of cracking, wanting to cry.

Joey sent her world-shattering, life-altering, angst-induced e-mail correspondence –- entitled, appropriately enough, "The Incident" to the entire Worthington campus.

_See? I told you that wasn't a good idea,_ Audrey responded, reflexively.

_That's all you have to say?_ Joey asked, incredulous.

_I don't know. Sucks to be you?_ Audrey replied only.

It was still bothering her, even when she finally found that particular fun-loving duo she was looking for. At Audrey's cheery greeting, Jack smiled, briefly, in welcome, before turning his attention back to the very pretty man at the front of the room who was rifling through some papers in his open briefcase.

_Audrey, not that we don't enjoy having you here, because we do, but don't you have your own classes to go to?_ Jen asked, leaning forward so that she could look directly at her, ignoring the zombie-like state of her transfixed psychic twin, sitting between them.

_Worthington's charms are lost on me,_ Audrey replied, casual and dismissive.

_Miss one more week, and maybe they'll just kick you out,_ Jen warned, but amusement threaded itself within her gaze.

_Awesome,_ Audrey pronounced.

_Guys, shh!_ Jack admonished.

_Ok, I forgot to tell you,_ Jen continued, throwing a snarky glance at Jack, who willfully ignored her. _This is "studious Jack," not to be confused with "fun-time Jack." He doesn't like to miss a word of Freeman's lecture, so you should just try to keep it down. _

Audrey nodded as Professor Freeman launched into explaining an extra-credit assignment. _There's a theater downtown that's showin' a double-feature which exemplifies our culture's obsession with the beautiful girl who plays ugly. The plain Janes who go on to grace the covers of Cosmo the same month their makeover movies come out. _

Looks like the entire afternoon is fully-booked, Audrey thought to herself, noting how Jack's face lit up and the way Jen settled into a resigned air of compliance. Having perfected the art of seeming attentive in class while her thoughts ran over everything completely else, she lounged in her seat, zoning out the Professor's authoritative rendering of the significance of reconstituted family values in _The Simpsons_ to instead recall a few weeks ago, when the "big revelation" or, as Jack and Jen termed it, "soul-mate sex," occurred. She remembered, too, Joey's morning angst over that ill-conceived e-mail correspondence. What was the big fucking deal about sex with these people?

When Audrey tried to ask Jack and Jen about it, on the couch in Gram's living room later that misbegotten night, they uncharacteristically clammed up and changed the subject, Jack joking about elephants and the movie _Princess Bride_ and Jen offering cookies and tea. Then Pacey had come to claim her, after his customary stop in The Grams' fully-stocked kitchen, and Audrey was off to ecstasy-land. It was a full and frisky night of all-out sex, and they even managed not to be overly loud in their exertions, which was very hard to do. Though not hurried, an inexplicable urgency propelled Pacey's love-making that night. And she had to keep that damned pillow stuffed in her mouth throughout, while he spent his own sweet, slow time having his way with her. Well, after she had had her way with _him_, of course, keeping her mouth full of something decidedly non-pillow first. Her cheeky chuckle actually had Jack sliding a sardonic eye over at her and a muffle-coughed, "Stop thinking of sex, Aud," emerged surreptitiously from a smirking Jen.

Audrey shrugged in answer, grinning. She really could not help it. Pacey was an entrepreneur in _every_ sense of the word and the best she had ever had in bed, if she was being objective about it. Sure, the basic skills were pretty standard in most hot-blooded American males – and she had test-driven a good number of those, for sure. But Pacey was a kick-ass upgrade, all the way. It was his focus, that concentration, the utterly absorbed way that he made love to a woman that was so incredible about him. Even when it was "just sex," it was always something more. During their first time, in his car, right outside of her dormitory last year, all of the awkward positioning in that cramped back-seat space was nothing compared to all of the ways he inhabited her during sex. His low voice, whispering hot and raunchy things into her ear. His large hands, smoothing sensual shivers all over her body. His long lean fingers and soft wet tongue, working their erotic expertise into and across her most private sensitive parts. And finally, the way he felt inside of her – hard and long and full – his deep, forceful thrusts always hitting home, because he always ensured they would. 

Pacey was an extremely attentive lover, even moreso than Chris, who had been the love of Audrey's life. For some reason, unbeknownst to her, he could not indulge in anything less than full engagement whenever he entangled himself with – and within a woman. Perhaps it was the fact that he was "tutored" well by his first partner – a mature feminine teacher, in every sense of the word – or the fact that he had to do the "tutoring" himself, with his next two partners directly after that first experience. One learns best by teaching others, as the saying goes. Audrey could not speak for those others, of course, but seeing as Pacey had never since seemed to lack for ready and willing partners, she had a feeling that those lessons learned were well-appreciated among her female brethren. God bless the lucky gal fortunate enough to find herself rolling around with, beneath, and around Pacey J. Witter between the sheets. And what do ya know? _She_ was that gal, exclusively!

Audrey had the hots for Pacey pretty immediately after they first met. That scared her. He was Joey's ex-boyfriend and initially, she thought that Pacey was Joey's Chris – similar to her own first love and high school relationship that was all-consuming and ever-connective. But all she heard about last year was Dawson and that "soul-mate" bond. Except for the time when she accidentally discovered Pacey's presence in Boston, Joey never talked about their former romance at all. Nope, full-throttle anguish and angst was forever tied to her love-saga with golden cinema-boy.

Pacey never talked about their past high school relationship, either, though he often regaled her with tales of their shared childhood and pre-pubescent adolescence – mean pranks, choice insults, funny anecdotes, and vexing idiosyncrasies exclusive to long-time friends. And Jack and Jen rarely talked about them as a former couple, though occasionally, Audrey would catch small exchanged glances between them, a shrug here and there, or a bemused flash of shared expressions.

So Audrey pieced together a very sketchy picture of the Pacey and Joey pairing from scattered tidbits and mutterings, accidental slip-ups and a truncated story or two. Audrey heard about the summer at sea (from Jack), the de-flowering (from Jen), and the big senior prom debacle (from both). Even Dawson alluded to them once, to some huge betrayal during a long-ago springtime, when he had first discovered that they were seeing each other. But it was mentioned in passing – grumbled, more like – during the tail-end of a drunken stupor last year, after a party on Pacey's borrowed boat. It was the same party during which Dawson blamed his father's death upon Joey during an inebriated soliloquy. Shortly after that, Dawson hooked up with Jen. 

At first, Audrey felt so guilty, harboring such a strong attraction to Pacey. She was hyper-sensitive to the situation, vigilantly seeking out any signs of discomfort or jealousy from Joey. But then, sans Dawson, Joey went off to indulge in a rotating merry-go-round of potential love interests, including her English professor, a nerdy nice-boy, a wanna-be rocker, and that cute summer fling she informed her about on a Capeside postcard last July. And before they started dating exclusively last spring, Pacey was operating his own revolving door of fetching females to keep himself occupied. Plus, Joey and Pacey slipped so easily into a laid-back, platonic friendship. And Joey was so quick to give her blessing to the mutual attraction between her and Pacey.

Thus, Audrey figured that Pacey could not have possibly been as significant to Joey in terms of romance and love and lifetime things. He was _not_ her Chris. So Audrey stopped looking for any signs, relieved. Perhaps Pacey had merely been an experiment – a romantic fling with a good friend that goes awry yet not so far-gone as to lose the larger friendship completely. No, Joey's true love was saved for that someone special, the one she insisted was her soul-mate. Dawson Leery.

_I mean, that's what all of this fuss was all about, right?_ Audrey thought. _True Love corresponded to Soul-Mate, did it not?_ Anything to the contrary, she did not want to consider, especially now.

But she could not help but wonder how sex with Dawson would compare to that with Pacey. _I mean, Joey had been on the receiving end of both boys, literally,_ Audrey mused. She cocked her head now, bemused. When she looked at Dawson, she considered him cute, but not hot. Pleasant to have on one's arm, attractive to look at, not at all badly-formed – in fact, pretty easy on the eyes. But she did not want to jump his bones. She remembered hanging out with him at the beginning of freshman year, keeping him occupied while Joey tried to drop Professor Wilder's Creative Writing class. They had flirted, innocuously. Dawson was not a huggy-kissy kind of guy, but they developed an easy, friendly rapport. Yet Dawson and Joey were always so strained around one another. Awkward. Never relaxed. Audrey found that part so very confusing. Was that because of Dawson? Or was it Joey?

Audrey's mind started traveling down a previously restricted path. Were Joey and Pacey even _compatible_ in bed back when they were in high school? Jen had let it slip during one drunken evening last year – before she and he officially hooked up that Pacey had done the honors of initiating Joey into the joys of womanhood. But had his real prowess developed post-Joey? Because Audrey could not reconcile what she knew of Pacey's abilities – and her experience of those abilities – with the notion of a skittish, prudish Joey Potter, who was even now freaking out over one night of sex with a boy she had been in love with her entire lifetime. It just did not add up. _Not that I'm complaining_, Audrey amended to herself. _I mean, I got the long end of the stick, no pun intended._ She chortled quietly again, and Jack poked her in the ribs to shush her.

"Ow!" she whispered, elbowing him back.

"Audrey!" Jack hissed. Jen just giggled softly, keeping her eyes trained to the front of the classroom.

Shifting a little farther away from the obsessively-focused Jack, Audrey continued on with her musings. Once they decided to be committed to each other, Pacey was so completely _there_ for her. She had doubted him briefly, when he almost slipped last year with Alex, their new boss at that dearly departed restaurant, _Civilization_. But she had no reason to fear that he had come close to slipping since then. And Joey was right – Pacey did not cheat. In Los Angeles, Audrey had brought him to all of the best Hollywood parties, and despite all of the wannabe ingénues and aspiring starlets that came on to him – and there were plenty! – he stayed fully attentive only to her. Absolutely loyal. Completely faithful. Of that, she was quite sure.

So the sex was amazing. They were close. They were young. They were hot for each other. And she loved him. She had fallen head-over-fucking-heels in love with Pacey Witter. Completely.

Yet despite this, Audrey still felt something was amiss. There were moments lately that left her feeling perplexed and on edge. Granted, her restlessness was also tied to her boredom with school, in general, and her annoyance with Pacey working at a job her own father arranged for him, specifically that damned job was a bitch-mistress. But in the dorm room that night, when Joey and Dawson revealed their indiscretion to all and sundry, after a brief glance at Jen, Pacey had grown quiet and pensive. It was a flash of a second, but she had caught it. Or the way Pacey and Joey faced each other off, briefly, right before he ushered them out of the room. The look they had exchanged – an acknowledgement and a reckoning laced with just the slightest twinge of regret. Then, at Hell's Kitchen, another moment, by the jukebox, right before they left, his eyes were hooded again, an instant. It was that instant that had caused her to become so attentive last night, when Joey's shoulders stiffened at the mere mention of a "Paceyism." 

Regarding "The Incident," Pacey deftly brushed away her inquiries with easily tossed jokes and teasing innuendoes. Yet underneath, she sensed a steely resolve _not_ to discuss it. But Pacey being Pacey, his non-verbal skills being so incredibly persuasive, she was all-too-willing to let those sleeping dogs lie. A different dog-style briefly came to mind, and she smiled a little at the memory, but she batted it away for now, though shivered in remembered pleasure, recalling it.

The next morning, after that night, when she returned to her dorm room, Joey was already gone. Audrey tracked her down at the library later that afternoon and extracted her from a pile of books at a corner table to get some coffee and indulge in girl-talk. But Joey's girl-talk was vastly different from the regular girl-talk. Whereas she and Jen could sit for hours regaling each other with raunchy stories from past sexual encounters – and Jen even told her a thing or two about her long-ago, never-indulged sex pact with Pacey in high school, she was that forthright! – Joey was less candid. She fixated on the "meanings" of things, on the "significance" and "implications" and "consequences" of that sexual act and never once gave any details of the act itself. Audrey supposed it had been good sex. Jen had not seen fit to complain about it overmuch last year, during her own short-lived affair with The Leery. And in her experience, women often were compelled to vent if it were _bad_ sex. It was like a purging or cleansing of sorts, after all. But obviously, the sex was not mind-blowing. Because if it had been, then all of this angsty pondering would be moot. Great sex blew second thoughts way out of the water, as far as she was concerned.

It was the only real conversation they had about "The Incident" because over the past two weeks since that night, Joey had made herself pretty scarce. Audrey was spending most of her nights with Pacey. So they often just saw each other in passing – during the standard arrivals and departures at the room. Audrey would call once or twice a day, just to check up on her, but would always be met with an assured _"Everything is fine."_ Then last evening, Joey called Audrey to talk about the e-mail she was writing that she wanted to send to Dawson – the e-mail that would change everything. So she went back to the dorm room, late in the night, thinking she'd be able to hand-hold Joey through the finalization of it for the sending, only to find her still ruminating over "Dear Dawson". It was truly maddening.

Last year, when they were new to each other, Audrey would induce Joey to go against her natural reticence, like when she had urged Joey to go see Pacey at the Boston Harbor after they had discovered him doing his chef thing at _Civilization_. Joey came back that night so relaxed and happy. Then Audrey actually met Pacey a short time thereafter, and he was now her boyfriend. _Huge_ unforeseen bonus for her, _most_ definitely. But this was a new year, and the Worthington roommates had settled into more set patterns of reaction-versus-action. She had other things to preoccupy herself with and this Dawson and Joey thing was _way_ beyond her.

And besides, she had other things to think about. And oh, how _delicious_ those other things were, indeed!


	5. Snow Globes: Chapter Four

_**A Kid, Dreaming in Earnest**_

_The entire time I've known you, all you've wanted to do is escape. From me, from Capeside. I mean, you say that I'm the dreamer. I'm the one who doesn't wanna live in the real world. Well, I'm doing it, Joey. Right now. I'm living in the real world. It's you who wants the fantasy._

His words to Joey that night, in her dorm room, resounded in Dawson's head as he shifted in his seat, still uncomfortable. They had not spoken nor communicated since. Now it was two weeks later and he was flying coach, with Todd up in first-class, on his way back to Boston from Los Angeles. Shooting for Todd's cinema-verite horror film was set to begin the following day. Though they were returning with a largely supplemented movie budget, it did not extend to cover director's assistants, apparently. Even if said director's assistant was responsible for creating an entire set from scratch, creating a perfect replica of a traditional Cape Cod house, effectively and quite capably, at the lowest costs manageable. Dawson was a whiz at transforming nothing into something. That made him extremely invaluable to Todd. But such skills did not shield him from that Brit-brat director's reality-check totem-pole dynamics, or scathing set-downs, for that matter. This was Hollywood. Todd was his Satan. And Dawson had to pay his dues before he sold any more parts of his soul.

_Do you still got that list we made of all the bloody things wrong with it?_ Todd had asked him, the day Dawson had brought Joey to the set.

_Every bloody one. I already got the art department started on the corrections,_ Dawson replied, confident and self-assured.

_Excellent_, Todd pronounced. Then, he had turned to Joey. _We're coming back and filming in two weeks, you know._

_That's what I heard_, she said, wry.

_So, you'll, uh... you'll come back and visit us then, then_? Todd prodded, sparing a cheeky glance up at Dawson.

_I hope so, _she answered, smiling.

It had all been so perfect, he mused now, finishing off his Coke on ice from a short plastic cup. Just like the creation of that movie set, the house he re-built from memory, every detail resurrected, every imagining rendered real. He, Dawson Leery, made the illusion a reality.

_Dawson, this is spectacular. It's like it's _**_your_**_ movie_, Joey had said, looking around, awed.

_Well, except it's not. I'm just the director's assistant_, he replied, shrugging with a small smile.

_Come on, you have to admit you've come a long way since "Sea Creatures From the Deep." I mean... it's like it's the real thing._

_As real as something can be that's entirely an illusion._

_Entirely?_ she asked him then, one dark brow raised in inquiry.

_Well, see for yourself_, he answered, gesturing to a facsimile of his bedroom door.

They had stepped through that door into…nothing. The production crew had run out of its initial monies to complete the entire set-piece, so the bedroom door opened only onto a sturdy wooden scaffolding. But Joey only laughed, leaning her elbows on its railings, looking out over the edge, so he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. They embraced, content. It had not mattered that it was unfinished, because beyond that door, Dawson only saw open-ended possibility. And perched there with Joey on the scaffolding that day, he thought she was seeing that possibility too, imagining it with him. Though he was a dreamer, he wanted more than just fantasy. Dawson wanted _magic_.

These thoughts propelled him as he led Joey through this familiar house on a foreign movie set, making his way onto that provisional front porch to flick on a switch. Hundreds of twinkling lights lit up, cascading all around them. The look on Joey's face in that instant filled Dawson with a boundless joy. For that girl down the creek, who had struggled through so many hardships and more than her fair share of unkind whispers, prevailed intact through a destroyed family and beyond a broken heart, many times over, it was a look that usually did not sit well on her features. At least, it was something he had never seen there, in his presence. It was pure delight. It was _magic_.

_Kinda hokey, don't you think?_ Joey had teased, turning to him.

_Yeah, that's exactly what I think,_ he replied, grinning back at her.

_You put a little thought into this._

_Just a little._

A short time later, he handed her a cup of champagne, as they sat, facing each other, surrounded by those sparking lights, enclosed within their own special Never-land.

_A toast. To Joey Potter...on her 19th birthday, a day that will live in infamy,_ Dawson had pronounced, raising his cup high.

_A great day_, Joey concurred, raising her own cup with a wide smile.

_And one that hasn't ended yet,_ he said, leaning forward over a short expanse between them to kiss her. She bent toward him, too, kissing back.

Everything was finally falling into place. The fact that he was finally living his film-making dream. That Joey was living out her own scholastic ones at Worthington. That their friends were all set on productive individual journeys – Jack and Jen matriculating and merry-making at Boston Bay whilst living with Grams; Andie at Harvard, happily studying to become a doctor; and Pacey now content with Audrey, embarking on his own entrepreneurial path. Filming in Boston, of all places, had been a good omen. That it was Joey's nineteenth birthday only enhanced his great fortune. After so many years of false starts and cruel interventions, misguided romantic forays with other people and persistent missed connections and misunderstandings, their paths were finally clear. All they had to do was walk right back to each other. It was that simple. It had always been that simple.

Except, that it was not.

_Look, I'm willing to admit that the timing on this is far from perfect, but I'm sick of waiting for this so-called perfect timing that's obviously never gonna happen for us._

_Oh, yeah, right. You know, it's…better to just get it over with and move on, you know? "Slept with Joey. Just...cross that off my list of things to do."_

Okay, he should have told her about Natasha. Hindsight is always a killer sage, Dawson realized now. But he was reluctant to tell Joey that night, to ruin the illusion when it was so close to becoming reality. They had dreamt of this moment for so long, even before they were conscious of each other as sexual beings, before they recognized that he was just a boy and she was just a girl, in love. Dawson had wanted to tell her at the bar, at Hell's Kitchen, when they were sitting there together, alone, laughing easily and remembering old times. Dawson and Joey, always and forever. It felt good. _Real_. In Hollywood, back in Los Angeles, things were so temporal, so fleeting. That was Natasha. But Joey? She was his _soul-mate._

But _As I Lay Me Down_ came on the jukebox and Joey was jumping up, giddy, and suddenly, she was in his arms and they were dancing. Dawson never wanted that dance to end. When they went back to her dorm room, she asked him to stay the night. At midnight (or close to, anyway), he gave her that birthday present – a snow-globe of Hollywood, his illusory dream enclosed, though the reality was grounded many miles away. But the snow-globe was more than just a gift. It was _magic, his_ magic, and he was offering it to her. Along with a champagne toast in that resurrected house they both grew up in, illogical swirling snow in that little globe beckoning the impossible, and twinkling lights serving as makeshift stars on that set-piece porch – all of these representing possibility. For once, Dawson was making the metaphors _real_.

When they made love for the first time, Dawson finally knew reality. Reality was this girl, warm and vibrant in his arms, encircling him from beneath, and his body lost itself in her heat, even as he found his soul, once again. They came together tenderly, gently – in passion but also in awe – with an initial awkwardness born from long-lingering dreams and previously unexplored imaginings. But in the end, their clumsy tangling smoothed into something good. And it was fine. Perfect.

In the morning, he slipped away to tie up the loose ends, to ensure the happy ending. They made love upon his return – again, a warm and gentle coupling. Later that afternoon, Dawson met her at the movie set, brought her to that set-piece porch that Jack helped him engineer (his payment, one of those ubiquitous beginning-of-filming gift baskets to Todd), and directed her to that moment when their dream finally became reality.

But then Natasha called. The others threw a surprise birthday party. And he was suddenly battling with Joey in a cramped bathroom while the others remained, captive, just outside in the larger dorm room. _All_ of the others. Including Pacey.

Their later angry words to one another resonated now in Dawson's head. The ones that spewed forth once everyone else had finally left.

_Oh, you're saying that I _**_wanted_**_ this to happen?_ Joey had spat out at him, angry.

_No, 'cause that would involve you actually knowing what you want, which we both know is not likely to happen anytime this decade,_ he shot back, himself incensed.

_Oh, great, you know? Use something when I was a child!_

_You're _**_still_**_ a child, Joey. You're still the same scared little girl who_

_Who what? Who what, Dawson? Who broke your heart? God! Is the statute of limitations ever gonna end on that one? Ever! Dawson, I'm sorry I don't have the same dreams I had when I was 15 years old, and I'm sorry that I moved on faster than you did, but you know what? Maybe not everything that happens to you is my fault! And maybe just because I want more from my life than_

_More than what? More than us? You don't know, do you? You've never known._

Or _did_ she? Dawson caught that brief glance – the one she exchanged with Pacey right before his erstwhile best friend turned to leave the room, following the others out. The others that included _his_ current girlfriend, Audrey. It was a loaded look. A meaningful one. In that instant, Dawson read acknowledgement and reckoning pass between them. And a twinge of remorse. It infuriated him. Because it threw him back to that moment, years past, when he had stepped out from his front door, onto the porch of his real house back in Capeside and found these exact two gazing into each other's eyes, hands entwined, on his front lawn, arguing. About an _us_ that was _them_. And before Dawson could help himself, he went ballistic.

_It's _**_you_**_ who wants the fantasy_, Dawson charged, righteous.

**_I_**_ want the fantasy?_ Joey asked, incredulous.

_Yes_, he replied, with emphasis.

**_Who_**_ lit the candles?_**_ Who_**_ bought the champagne?_ she continued to question.

**_Who_**_ dumped _**_who_**_ four years ago? Joey, I know what I want. I've always known what I want. Before we destroy whatever chance we might actually have at having a relationship, I'm asking you, please, stop and think about this. Is this really what you want? Is this...really the way that you want things to end between us?_

While Joey sat in the bathroom, behind a locked door, crying, Dawson had settled there, at her bed, anguished and stunned. Perfect was not supposed to end this way. There was no reason to have angst. There were finally no obstacles. And yet here they were, tearing into each other. Again. Dawson was exhausted.

_Why are you doing this, Joey?_ he had asked her, when she finally emerged from the bathroom, some time later.

**_We're_**_ doing this, Dawson. It's what we do. It's what we always do_, she answered, weary.

_Last night was real. Today was real. It's you, not me, who doesn't wanna deal with the realities of an adult relationship._

As soon as the words tumbled off his tongue he flashed, illogical, back to that long-ago spring, to Pacey on his front lawn.

_Us. We were having an argument about us. There's an "us" here now. I'm sorry, man. We didn't wanna tell you this way._

Then, to Pacey again, at Spring Break last year in Florida.

_I'm serious. You gotta give that thing up. That thing that you guys do to each other. The heroes of bad timing. You've got to give that up. It's over._

But Dawson had persisted, determined.

_Believe me, Pace, sometimes I wish that was the case. But it's not. I can feel it. I know you don't believe in any of this, and that's fine. You're the cynic. I'm the idealist. It's how we work, I guess. _

Yet that look in the dorm room that Pacey and Joey had exchanged instantaneous, yet searing hovered in his mind, as well as those last words he had swapped with Joey.

_But if we can't argue like this and get past it, then..._

_…maybe there's nothing here worth saving_, Joey finished for him, continuing, _Maybe last night was just..._

_Just what?_

_Just two old friends making a huge mistake._

_Wow_, Dawson said then, his heart dropping to his knees, his insides roiling, uncontrollable. _If that's the way you feel, thenthen I...should go._

And Joey had not stopped him. Just as she had not stopped him last summer, when he boarded that plane to come out to Los Angeles – had not stopped him nor would come with him. But she had gone with Pacey that one summer, a long time ago.

As his plane began to descend into Boston's Logan Airport, Dawson gave his empty cup to a passing stewardess, then pushed his tray table back up to its upright position and pushed the button on his armrest to bring his seat up as well. He didn't know why he was thinking of Pacey right now, as he replayed this whole sordid mess in his mind. Pacey was a moot point now, wasn't he? His presence had been moot for a very long time. But that was a whole other musing he could not to get into. Not right now.

Because as Dawson gazed at the city beneath him, he knew that somewhere down there, a dark-eyed brunette beauty was going on with her life. Without him. And despite those few moments of a sweet physical entangling and that brief spiritual connecting of champagne glasses and warm lips, perfection was just not going to happen.

Magic is only an illusion, after all, no matter how earnestly you dream for it to be otherwise.


	6. Snow Globes: Chapter Five

**_Ruminations Only, On the Human Experience_**

_Why, when broaching the topic of sex, do so many writers try to write themselves out of it? Sexuality and all its dysfunctions are intrinsic to the human experience, maybe the one thing we can all relate to at the end of the daywell, neurosis and the god thing aside. And the reason that Roth seduced us and Miss Morning After here didn't is that while Roth isn't afraid to get his hands quite literally dirty with rapid-fire sensual description, our e-mail author here distances herself from the act with vague metaphors. Can't be stream of consciousness if you're observing from the shores... right? _

It was nearing the end of another day and Joey slammed her book down onto her desk, residue fury discombobulating her concentration. Professor Hetson was such an asshole! And now, she was having trouble focusing, the humiliation of having her most private thoughts and musings laid out bare for all to read and explicate, debate and destroy, really doing a number on her. Yesterday, Hetson came into Hell's Kitchen, all evil-wry and smug, telling her, _Maybe you didn't mean for this one to go out into the world. Whatever. Bygones. Declare victory and move on. _

_Where's the victory in this little scenario?_ she had asked, aghast and still angry.

_One down, only a lifetime of proving yourself left to go. And if you're staying in my class, start proving that it's worth it... to one of us, at least._

Joey stood up from her desk and went to sit down on the edge of her bed, fresh tears prickling at her eyes. Tomorrow, she had to walk back into that classroom to face her snickering peers and that arrogant Hetson, all over again. I will not cry **anymore**! she yelled at herself, silent to the outside world but thunderous in her mind. Leaning over, she grabbed her keys from the bedside table. Though she had the dorm room to herself – and had for several weeks now, since Audrey spent every moment as far away from the Worthington campus as possible and as much time as she could with Pacey, when he wasn't working those ungodly hours – Joey could not bear to stay cooped up in this place where her whole world had come crashing down. Again. She needed some fresh air and a good long run always helped whenever she felt restless and frustrated. Running soothed her; oftentimes, it saved her.

_I want the fantasy. I want more than anything for us to be together. But not like this. Not screaming at the top of our lungs about things that happened four years ago,_ she had told Dawson, amongst a flurry of other things she had flung back at him, while he was flinging his own suppositions, ruthless, at her.

When he finally left that night, her hand hovered over the door handle, a split-second away from going after him. But she pulled herself away, backing off to preserve herself from any further self-flagellation. Because every argument with Dawson felt exactly like that – a tearing, digging, gouging pain, perpetually inflicted in the same place, for unchanging reasons. Joey cried herself to sleep that night, alone, her eyes glued to that silly snow globe he had given to her for her nineteenth birthday. _His_ dreams housed in a glass ball. But what about _her_ dreams? Where were _they_ housed?

When she had finally broken through her blocked angst that night, two days ago, she wrote to Dawson, pouring out an unfiltered honesty:

_We've seen each other at every angle at this point and I think that the end result is that together we make an ugly mess. A mess of each other, a mess of whatever was worth saving from the past, a mess of the future. I didn't want it to be that way Dawson. I didn't sleep with you that night because it was my birthday and I was looking for a way to pass the time. I shared the most important thing with you because I thought that maybe that would be the missing link. That maybe if we did that, every other messed up part of us would finally make sense, fall into place._

Two wrongs **never** make a right, Joey thought to herself, darkly wry, as she strode, brisk, down the dormitory hallway towards the building entrance, keen to make her own hasty exit. Would that she could run away as easily from the expansive reach of that ill-fated e-mail.

_You know, if it makes you feel any better, I hardly heard about the e-mail all day long,_ Audrey had reassured her last night. Joey was working the night shift, Jack and Jen were hanging out at Hell's Kitchen after an afternoon spent watching a double-feature at a movie-house for their popular culture class, and Audrey was just whiling away the time before Pacey could finally tear himself away from his job.

_Audrey, you weren't on campus all day,_ Joey pointed out.

_Details, Joey!_ Audrey replied, sunnily dismissive.

Then Jen asked, _Does Dawson even know about it? _

_No, that's the thing,_ Joey told them. _I mean, it wasn't even addressed to him. My intimate aftermath was discussed in English class, but Dawson will never know._

Joey knew she could resend it to him – and only him – if she wanted to. But straggling second thoughts – supplemented by a whole campus buzzing with analyzing psychobabble – made her too wary to even think about trying again. Maybe it was an ominous omen to quit while she was ahead. Wincing, Joey recalled more of her confessional words in that god-awful correspondence.

_You want me to apologize, I'm sure. You want me to tell you that I'm the same Joey Potter and that I love you and that you're my homecoming and all the recycled nothings we've been saying for years. You know how you repeat a word so many times it starts to not make sense? We don't make sense._

**Nothing** made sense, Joey thought, starting her warm-up jog. This boy she had known her entire life, who she'd fallen in love with at fifteen, who she had always considered her soul-mate, made absolutely no sense at all. He had built her up – and them too – into some fantasy and then tore it all down with expired ultimatums and empty recollections. Over and over again. It's a fine line between divine resurrection and useless repetition, Joey added to herself, as she picked up her pace, shifting gears into a full-fledged run. **All** boys were cryptic and maddening creatures. Dawson Leery. And Eddie Doling, too. Crossing the bridge over the Charles River, Joey's thoughts lingered on that wise-ass classmate of hers who was also the bartender at Hell's Kitchen.

_You know, contrary to popular belief, I didn't send that e-mail to get feedback from you and everyone else, and I was kind of thinking that since I've been mocked for the better part of the day, maybe you could spare me and concentrate on your own deep unhappiness for a while,_ she had snapped at him, yesterday afternoon, still reeling from her emotional insides being hung outside herself to dry.

_You know, strangely, before you got all...crazy confessional on me, that's exactly what I was doing,_ he responded, arch. _I hadn't been planning how to best torture you. You see, we don't just walk off into a void when we leave your line of vision. Some of us even have our own lives and don't even talk about you at all._

Maddening, Joey thought, boys were just maddening. Whether they had known you forever or just met you, it was the same drill – assumptions and acid tongues and animosity. At least for her, anyway. Perhaps she was a magnet for those sorts of boys. As they say "like attracts like." Lord knows, she wasn't always the most non-judgmental or placid or benevolent of creatures herself.

But then again, Eddie _was_ cute.

Last evening, Jen noticed him tending the bar and inquired, _Joey, who is that? _subtly motioning over at him. _Eddie_, Joey informed her, crisp. _He's a ruggedly dreamy sort,_ Jen commented, her hazel-green gaze flickering warm approval. _He's got a major chip on his shoulder, the size of which rivals only the one on my shoulder,_ Joey replied, still a little brusque. Then, shrugging, she added, _He's ok._

Later that night, as Joey finished cleaning the tables, Eddie counted out the cash tips and was actually nice while giving her the proper share of her earnings. Then that stupid _As I Lay Me Down_ song came onto the jukebox, as if the Universe were trying to needle her, just a little bit. _Man, II hate this song,_ Eddie pronounced, noticing her slight discomfort. _Yeah, me, too,_ Joey agreed. He walked over to the jukebox and kicked it. The song skipped at first, but a second swift kick stopped it entirely, jumping to another song, less offensive. A different song to interrupt and replace that same one always playing in her head. She and Eddie continued cleaning up the rest of the bar together in a companionable silence.

_We don't know how to be together, not in the present tense. And for all the rambling I've done in this email, I don't know what to say to you. I thought this would be it, Dawson. I thought that this would be the time it lasted without one of us getting in the way. But I don't think we know how to stop tripping each other up. It's like we're trying to stop the other one from getting ahead in the future. Maybe we need to grow up, separately, turn our backs on each other for a while._

Joey focused on keeping her breathing regulated as she felt the more intense cardio-vascular portion of her run kick in. When the threshold is reached where the chest constricts, the heart pumps hardest and breath is abrasive in the throat. Then you either stop running or push willfully to that next level. But once past that hump, that part where you harbor notions of halting, or taking a break, or maybe even ending the run, once you thrust beyond that initial barrier, it's clear sailing. Your body grows accustomed to the feeling of the sprint, your breathing kicks into a more efficient rhythm, and it's like fleeing free with the wind.

_I wish we could meet again for the first time and see if there was something there, but the sad thing is, we'll never know. We'll just have all these things we've said and done and regretted. I don't want to be that girl to you anymore, Dawson. We need to find some way to stop doing this to each other._

Liberation. That's what running provided her. Unfettered now, she pounded the pavement, blowing by trees and lawns and buildings and people. A few leashed dogs, too. But persistent thoughts still chased her. At the end of that fateful afternoon just over two weeks ago, before the night she and Dawson consummated the beginning of the end, Pacey was in her dorm room when she returned to it. He was lying down on Audrey's bed, rubbing his eyes, when she entered, fresh from her first-round battling with Hetson back at his office. That was when it all began, really. It started with that first glance of an old, familiar face.

_Hey, you_, she had greeted, happy to see him, suddenly aware of how much she had missed him. Two summers in a row, Pacey had extracted himself from her life. The first was a painful one; that next, not so much. She had a rather significant hand in motivating the airport reunion with Audrey that led to their summer spent together in Los Angeles, after all. But she had missed his company, so used to it again, she had become. Last year, they had eased into a greater and deeper friendship despite the heartbreak they had visited upon each other just the year prior. The heartbreak Joey had locked away, to keep unobtrusive, so she could move on. And Pacey had locked it away as well, it seemed, for he had moved on, too.

_Oh, Joey,_ Pacey said, jumping up and coming over to her, urgent. _Thank God. Look, there's no time right now, but no matter what happens in the next thirty seconds, or what I do, you _**_do not_**_ want me to crash here with you guys. Got it? Just—_ and then Audrey walked out of the bathroom, and Pacey retreated a bit, shifting into a too-bright _Hi!_.

Audrey asked if Pacey could stay with them in their dorm room for a few days and Joey had responded per Pacey's beseeching request. _Um... uh, you know what? Now is not really the best time. Uh... I've got a lot of studying to do, and, well, I mean, you know Pacey. I mean, he's kind of like a child. If he doesn't get enough attention, he starts to act out, and then there's the burping, the farting, the chronic halit's disgusting, really. _

_Don't I know it, _Audrey agreed as they exchanged a mock-earnest glance of shared empathy.

_Hey, I'm standing right here!_ Pacey protested, miffed. When Audrey determined that he would have to shack up with Grams instead, he added, plaintive, _Well, that's just great. You know, after all we've been through together, Joey, I really thought you'd be cooler about this. I'm actually a little hurt. _Calling his bluff, Joey vacillated, _Well, when you put it that way—_ but Pacey interrupted, keeping the ruse on course. _Oh, no. No, no, no. Don't you try to weasel out of this now. The damage is done. Let's go, Liddell. _

After they left, Joey was glad for the respite. Because if truth be told, she found herself not particularly enjoying the thought of Pacey and Audrey right there, in that bed, every minute, over the next few days. Because that would most assuredly be where sex-loving Audrey would want to spend the time and Pacey was not one to deny requests of the illicitly amorous kind. She knew that first-hand, from prior experience.

Strangely enough, the notion had actually bothered her a bit, tugging uncomfortably at her as she settled onto her bed to start reading _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_, determined to meet Hetson's challenge to finish it in three hours. It should not have bothered her, for she gave them her blessing to be with one another – practically pushed them together, twice. She and Pacey were over, romantically, a long time ago. They _had_ to be. But as Joey lay there, on her bed, she couldn't help but linger on the fact that Pacey had been the first and only boy she had ever had full-out sex with, fervent _almost-sex_ groping and tangling over the past year and summer, notwithstanding.

And then Dawson called, asking her if he would meet her for coffee, the question delivered via the answering machine. The question that started the chain of events that led her up to now.

Joey stopped running, taking deep breaths to even out her respiratory rhythm. Placing her hands on her upper thighs, she bowed her head, breathing hard. Going over to a nearby bench, she bent to stretch out her calves and the backs of her thighs, to prevent any possible cramping.

Later that same day, in the evening, they had all awaited Dawson's arrival at Hell's Kitchen. Mr. Leery had stood her up that afternoon and was in danger of doing so again; this time, the entire gang and not just her. So when the jukebox song she had paid for seemed as if it was going to stand her up too, she vented to that old, familiar face again. _This is so unfair! When are they gonna play my song? _she complained to Pacey as they both stood, alone, by the jukebox. _Well, maybe the jukebox rejected it on the grounds there's been plenty enough whiny chick-rock for one night, thank you very much,_ to which she replied, _Bite me._ And he actually did.

After Joey's indignant response, wiping off her bare upper arm, Pacey chuckled and then explained his earlier dodgy behavior in the dorm room. He was merely weary after partaking of Audrey's "party-all-the-time" Hollywood lifestyle over the past summer. As a reference point, he brought up a different summer, so very long ago. _Do you remember our particular summer together? _On a half-smile, Joey replied, _Rings a bell or two. _

Or three. They exchanged a warm glance, fostering a brief instant of private intimate recollections simmering beneath, but then moved on, strictly back to platonic. _Look, I've got a conflict here, because...see, the part of me that happens to be your close friend and erstwhile paramour says, hey, life's too short. You gotta do what makes you happy, right?_ Joey told him, wanting to give Pacey some good advice. _But then the other part of me, the part that happens to be Audrey's close friend and college roommate says, you know what? You break her heart, I break your face. Got it?_ And she poked him firmly in the chest with an admonishing finger for greater effect. _I got it,_ Pacey responded, rubbing the spot where she had jabbed him. _Come on,_ she finished, grasping his wrist to lead him back to the others. Him, to Audrey awaiting; her, to await Dawson, yet again.

Joey sat down now on that bench, wiping her sweaty brow and then leaning her elbows on her knees. Away from everyone – and especially Pacey – that brief instant came back to her in private and she allowed full rein to those remembrances she ruthlessly squelched back in that more public moment. Flashes of tenderly sweet daytime cuddles outside on a small boat and passionate nights of exploratory tangling just short of the full deal below-deck swept through her head. One memory led to another and another, guiding her inevitably to many months after that – nine months exactly – to that winter's night in a fire-lit cabin during the Senior Class Trip. The night the full deal was sealed.

Standing up, Joey started the long walk back to her dormitory building. She liked that leisurely stroll after her runs, allowing her body time to settle back down into a more efficient at-rest and giving her mind some time to reflect and ponder. Mellow exercise for her brain.

_Your heartfelt rant to what's his name proved good fodder for the topic at hand. It's hard to write that sex stuff, which you aptly proved,_ Hetson also told her yesterday, that permanent smirk, twitching.

_Sex_. Everything always came down to _that_, didn't it?

Writing that sex stuff just did not come easily to her. _Sex_ did not come easily to her. She hemmed and hawed and intellectualized and vacillated about it because it was never "just sex" to her. Sex was more than that. It was connection and intimacy and trust. It was tenderness and patience and warmth. It was letting go. It was love.

But then again, it was also more. It was heat and sweat and ecstasy. Locked limbs and melded bodies. Hot skin and mouths melting into each other, tongues wrapping around and sliding across. Dark curling hair, cropped, then completely shorn and soon, soft-shaggy again. Perfect for her fingers to run through and into, mussing. Large hands, proficient in their pleasuring, aided by his fingers too deft for words. And ultimately, a deep-thrusting fullness far too incredible to describe. That was love, too, back then.

Blushing, Joey shook her head as if to clear it of such sacrilege. Thinking of long-ago sex with Pacey felt inappropriate in light of recent events. But she just could not help herself. Right before the others left the room that night, leaving her alone with Dawson, Pacey had glanced up at her and her eyes had locked onto his. It was an instant – so quick – but the flash of acknowledgment tinged with something else between them was so palpable, Joey still could not shake the inexplicable import of it, even now. And then, he was gone, the door firmly closing behind him, and she had turned back to face her demons, on her own.

After all was said and done – the recriminations tossed about, the history once-again exhumed, the illusions imploding once more – the essence of the final reckoning between she and Dawson was compressed into that one physical, intimate act. An act that somehow always meant more than it should. Or perhaps, should have meant more than it ever could.

Sex with Dawson was exactly what she had always imagined it would be – pleasant, warm and gentle. Sweet. And it was good. Very good. He was no longer inexperienced or tentative. He was sure and adept and brought her to the edge of fulfillment several times that night. But he never could quite close the deal. In the end, Dawson let go and always found his own rapture, just as she was climbing to try to reach hers. So she stretched back to her bodily memories from before, to manufacture a passionate climactic response that she had, in truth, never had to fabricate in the past. Closing the deal, herself, she settled for "pleasant" and "warm" and "gentle" and "sweet." That was Dawson. He was not Pacey. Nor should he be.

In front of her dorm room door, Joey ruminated a moment longer. Nor _could_ he be, she added, trying to be more-fair-minded. They were different boys, complete opposites. They were also different loves; one, with a finite framework that had a beginning and an end from a long-ago past, the other, a lingering wondering continually revisiting itself upon her, now more recently ended. _Sexuality and all its dysfunctions are intrinsic to the human experience, maybe the one thing we can all relate to at the end of the day,_ Hetson had said and Joey decided that sexual skill was an extension of one's personality, after all. And she did not have enough reference points yet to make more comprehensive comparisons. Definitely, she required more varied human experience.

Joey placed the key in the lock, turning it. After pushing the door open, she hesitated on the threshold. It was the end of yet another day.

And Pacey was here, again, in her dorm room.

_NOTE: The text excerpts from the e-mail correspondence of "The Incident" are taken from the original DC Desktops and were not written by me. _


	7. Snow Globes: Chapter Six

_**A Drummer's Beat Marches to a Different Song**_

_I made the grave mistake of peeking behind the curtain, and now I can't pretend that I think the fantasy is the same as the reality. Plus, I've been killing time for too long. I wanna make something for myself, whether it's easy or not._

What he told Audrey the night before in front of Hell's Kitchen resonated in Pacey's mind as his tired body straggled down to the parking lot, trudging toward his red vintage Mustang, briefcase in hand, suit jacket slung over his shoulder. He was going home early tonight. Well, relatively early. Seven o'clock instead of eleven. Rich was mercifully out of town today, but tomorrow was going to be a killer in the office, he could already tell. Yet the night was not over. As soon as he got back to the apartment, he would hunker down to study for his Series 7 Exams, fast approaching.

Audrey was unhappy when he informed her about his evening plans that morning. She started to complain about his work-induced defection, pouting prettily, but Pacey kissed her until she relented. Then he promised to stop by her dorm room, to pick up some fresh clothes for her on his way home, so that she could sustain her inexplicable avoidance of Worthington's fine campus. It was starting to trouble him a little, this willful ignoring of her rather expensive higher education, but he was too tired to bring it up whenever he got home late every night and the mornings were focused on preparing himself for the challenging work day ahead.

So Audrey gave him her building access card and door keys, but not before exacting another promise from him to make it up to her on the weekend. He wasn't sure how he was going to swing that one, since he intended to go into the office to study, away from the distractions of Jack's weekend couch-entrenched cable-TV-watching and Emma's increasingly frequent – and sometimes ear-splitting – practice for her band's new song. Plus, Pacey wanted to get a jump on next week's sure-to-be higher pile of new client folders. Well, he would figure something out. He had to, now. And Pacey was good at figuring things out, once he set his mind to it.

Still, Emma threw him a sardonic look as he left this morning, amused over Audrey's easy capitulation and his own facile pledges. Then, she went back to banging her drums, loudly tattooing a hard, driving beat. The rhythmic pounding and cymbal crashes followed him all the way down to his car, reverberating in his head all the way to the office, a martial beat to guide him into metaphorical battle amongst his fellow aspiring workplace warriors. Everyday was a brand-new war.

_Honey, why don't you quit?_ Audrey had asked him, as they sat outside the bar last night, right after he told her how, despite the fact that he closed Topper that elusive Holy Grail of clients at the office his boss, Rich Rinaldi, undermined his extraordinary feat by taking all of the credit for it, felling him with unexpected friendly fire.

_Ohh, because it's not that easy_, he replied, weary, rubbing a hand over his face and scratching at the scruffy goatee at the edge of his chin.

But Audrey persisted. _Yes, it is! Pacey, these are supposed to be, like, the easiest days of our lives. I mean, we're supposed to be in there with our friends, you know, coming up with ridiculous drinking games and making each other laugh. I think we've all kind of figured out that the real world is a pretty crappy place, so what's the rush in getting there?_

She was right. The real world _was_ a crappy place and he certainly did not need any further testimonials to attest to that fact. But then again he, Pacey J. Witter, a high school graduate only by the skin of his teeth, former ne'er-do-well sailor and then promising culinary chef, was now a stockbroker-in-training. The journey from there to here was unexpected, somewhat circuitous, yet it was a new opportunity he was determined not to squander. Because though he was a prick of the highest order, Rich did make a point earlier that same day which even now, still lingered.

_Ok, I'll bite,_ Pacey had said, responding to Rich's insouciant query as they stood in that expensive foreign car dealership, during a brief, impromptu, afternoon field trip from the office. _What does my car say about me?_

_That you're a sentimental fool of a man-child,_ Rich informed him in a matter-of-fact tone. _You're too weak for a real car, so you tinker with your little medium-cool vintage one. You surround yourself with all things good, but not good enough. You don't want to grow up, so you don't go to school and you borrow your suits and you let your facial hair run amok. That's fine, but then why bother getting in the ring at all if you're not even gonna throw a friggin' punch?_

_Well, maybe I don't care about any of that stuff. Maybe I'm just tryin' to pay my rent,_ he countered, defensive.

_Come on, Pacey,_ Rich answered, his smile bordering on a sneer. _I see somethin' goin' on in there. You're not subjecting yourself to me because you like my tie. You're hungry. So quit effin' around and go for it already._

After locking down his car in the Worthington parking lot and tossing his jacket, tie, and suitcase into the trunk, Pacey made his way to the dormitory's front doors, swiping the access card in the magnetized slot on the wall in order to enter the building. Treading that familiar path to Joey's and Audrey's dorm room, he realized with a start that he had not returned there since the night, more than two weeks ago, when a distant past thrust itself insistently into his face, yet again. A past he thought was firmly laid to rest, but apparently refused to remain buried. Dawson and Joey. It should not have bothered him. But for some reason, it did.

As he unlocked the door and stepped into that room, Pacey pocketed the keys and access card, standing just within the doorway to glance all around him. Audrey's side was unusually neat and orderly – probably because she had rarely been there during the past few weeks. And slightly more than half of her wardrobe was currently littering the floor of his bedroom across town. Joey's side was unaccountably _not_ neat and orderly. Some clothes lay strewn across her bed. A thick, hard-bound book lay face-down and spread-eagled at a haphazard angle on her desk. Papers were stacked in a messy pile on the counter beneath the window. Something must be seriously stressing her out, Pacey thought, recognizing the signs of perturbed distress from their high school days as study-partners. Striding over to Audrey's closet, he pulled open the door and peered in, perplexed. Now that he was here, he had no idea what he should be looking for nor what he should be bringing back to supplement the trove of clothes Audrey already had stashed back at his apartment.

As he vacillated, a key turned in the lock and the door opened behind him.

Pacey twisted around to find Joey standing on the threshold, sweat-dampened and dressed in running gear, her face wearing a quizzical look. "Hi," she said. And then, she smiled.

"Hey," Pacey greeted, smiling back.

"What're you doing here?" she asked him, stepping further into the room and closing the door. "Coming out of the closet? Or stepping _into_ it, as the case may be?"

"Funny, Josephine," Pacey replied, tossing her a half-smirk. "I'm picking up some stuff for Audrey. She needs to recycle her wardrobe over at my place."

"_You're_ picking out clothes for Audrey?"

"No – _you're_ picking out clothes for Audrey. I'm merely bringing them back with me."

"How presumptuous of you," Joey commented archly, adding a half-smile. Swiveling, she lobbed her keys over to the desk where they landed on top of the book with a small, jingling thud.

"Well, I try," Pacey concurred, throwing a full-out smirk at her this time.

"It's kind of early for you to be out, isn't it?" she said, pushing off each running shoe with the other foot, in turns, and then nudging them to the side of the door. "I mean, you usually work monster hours."

"Rich was traveling today, so the supervisors let us out early."

Joey nodded then asked, "Are you in a rush? 'Cause I just got back from a run and I'd like to take a quick shower first."

"Go ahead. I'll just wait right here. Far be it for me to prevent you from cleansing your foul-smelling self."

"Good one, Pace," Joey replied dryly. "Except, not," she added, before slipping into the bathroom. Within seconds, the shower was running, full-blast.

Pacey chuckled and went over to Audrey's bed, tossing himself onto it. Rearranging the fuzzy pink headrest behind his head, he settled back to wait for Joey, staring up at the ceiling above him. Rich's voice once again intruded into his thoughts.

_Find your in with these guys. Become them. Become who they want to be. Think with those judgmental, ageist, racist, sexist, stereotyping parts of your brain that you've worked so hard to conquer. Believe me, you're never gonna land a guy like Topper playin' the nice guy._

Yet he _did_ land Topper. And Rich turned around and leveled him anyway, ruthlessly cutting him off at the knees.

_So, what, I'm just supposed to turn the other way on this?_ Pacey had questioned him, angry and incredulous, after he discovered Rich's underhanded doings. _I'm supposed to slap you on the back, congratulate you on a job well done like the rest of your minions? No, man! That is not why I came here._

_You can do what you wanna do,_ Rich replied, his tone airy, confident and dismissive. _Maybe you'd rather continue floating numbly in the status quo. Or maybe you wanna be me, and that's so scary you can't think straight. So walk away, Witter. It's what you do. And this is what I do, and I'm freakin' good at it. You wish you were this good, and that's why you bother trying. You think someone didn't do the exact same thing to me?_

That should have been his cue to back away, to quit while he was ahead, to retreat back to something tried and true. But strangely enough, Pacey only wanted to try harder. He had walked away before – from people – but they always came back. They returned to stir up first-time memories of sexual initiation. Or remained to shift old first-love relations into new friendly dynamics. Or followed him to a dock, refusing to let him run away, instead, coming with him. Even when he was finally successful in his flight, he found himself on another dock, under a starry sky, brought close again to something he had walked away from, determined and resolved, now different and transformed. And connected, still.

So what would happen if he changed his modus operandi? What if he focused on this current track – not just some**one** but some**thing** and actually _stayed_?

Pacey tried to explain it to Audrey last night – why he needed to persevere this time, to make this stockbroker thing work in spite of all the Machiavellian subterfuge. _Because sooner or later you run out of places to hide. Audrey, you seem to be operating under the assumption that you can do whatever you like, and you just can't!_

_Well, I'm sorry that you feel like I've been a colossal waste of your time_, she had said, piqued.

_That's not what I mean, and you know it_, he countered. _You and I come from very different worlds. You know that, right? I mean, I don't even think I realized how different until I went out to L.A. with you this summer._

_My dad is a heartless old fool just like your dad. He just wears more expensive suits, that's all_, she pointed out.

_Yes, he does,_Pacey agreed, acknowledging this shared aspect of their upbringing, something they felt a weird kinship about from the start. _I'm not expressing this very well, am I?_ So he tried again. _I'm trying to say that... I need respect. _

**_I_**_ respect you!_ Audrey insisted.

_I know you respect me, and I love you for it, but that's not what I'm talkin' about,_ he answered, hugging her to him, continuing, _I need respect out there. And maybe I gotta take a different path than I thought I was going to, but c'est la vie. _

Because it eventually boiled down to respect, after all respect and dignity and the knowledge that connections would always mean something in an ever-shifting world, if only you stayed to ensure they would. Regardless of whatever chosen path you followed or which life you decided to pursue.

Pacey's roving eyes now came to rest upon that snow-globe across the room. The one perched on the edge of Joey's bedside table. Hollywood dreams beckoning glittery promise and yet also, delusional mirage, illuminated within a shiny glass orb. Yet when he had gone to Los Angeles to see the real thing last summer, the view fell far short of the vision. And Pacey concluded that the real thing was most definitely not tied to a _place_. But that was the only thing he could be certain of. Beyond that, he was still trying to figure things out, bit by bit.

Joey emerged from the bathroom then, her wet hair tied up in a twisted, sloppy bun on top of her head, clad in cotton pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved Worthington crew shirt, her feet encased in fuzzy pink bathroom slippers. Pacey sat up, swinging his feet over to settle them onto the floor.

"What the hell was Dawson thinking?" he asked her abruptly, inclining his head toward the snow-globe by her bed. But the question held a deeper inquiry.

Joey stared at that clear ball for a moment, silent, weighing all options for an answer.

"I guess it was his version of a magic ball, symbolizing a bright future for me ahead," Joey speculated, wistful. "Make the fantasy a reality, finally. Or compel reality to become the fantasy. I don't know. It's all nonsense in the end, anyway," she trailed off, shrugging. Turning, she walked over to Audrey's closet and opened the door, not sparing a glance at Pacey, who continued to watch her carefully. Instead, Joey ran an assessing gaze over the closet contents and started to pull garments off of hangers, tossing them onto Audrey's bed. Reaching in a little farther, she took out a small BURBERRY duffel bag and handed it to Pacey. "You can put all of that stuff in here."

Pacey took the bag from Joey's outstretched hand and proceeded to fold the clothes she gave him into neat piles before shoving them into that expensive carry case. "Maybe I should've gotten you something else for your birthday too," he said, somewhat subdued.

Looking at him, finally, Joey shook her head, quirking a tiny smile as she continued to hand him articles of clothing – numerous pieces of underwear including bras, two pairs of jeans, a set of slacks, several blouses, two sweaters, and three pairs of shoes.

"I think that collection of The Simpsons PEZ candy dispensers was fine, actually," she commented, wry, throwing some hair accessories and assorted jewelry into the packing mix. Pacey wrapped these in Kleenex from the box by Audrey's bed, placing them into a smaller duffel pocket with requisite care.

Pacey laughed softly, protesting, "Hey – I got you the complete set! That's no joke! They're all there Homer, Marge, Lisa, Bart, Baby Maggie. That's gonna be worth a lot someday, if you take care of it."

"_You_ like the Simpsons, Pace," Joey pointed out.

"You _are_ the Simpsons, Jo," he responded, cheeky.

"Every single one of them?" Joey asked, amused. Pacey was pleased to note that she seemed more relaxed. "Are we talking multi-personality pschizo Sybil here?"

"Okay, y'know what? That one would be too easy," he said, foregoing an easy dig for once to move straight to his point. "No, here's the thing. The Simpsons, in all of their satiric and snarky glory, though seemingly the anti-thesis of 'the perfect family' are, in actuality, a rather traditional nuclear family and continually express an unorthodox celebration of family values. Their very imperfections make them utterly perfect."

"And you came up with that deconstruction all on your own?" Joey inquired, her brown eyes gleaming sly at him.

"Nah. That was a paraphrase. Jack was working on his popular culture essay late last night and was going over notes from lecture. It's something he got from class yesterday."

"So you're saying I'm perfect despite my imperfections?"

"No, I'm saying that you're perfect _because_ of your imperfections. You don't want to be perfect, Jo. Perfect isn't real. But anyway, it's the thought that counts."

"And what was the thought behind this one?"

"Schmaltz-factor alert here," Pacey warned, prefacing his answer. "I was giving you your future." In light of Joey's flummoxed look, he went on. "You probably forgot, but that summer we sailed together, there was that one evening we docked in Savannah. It was getting late. We stopped at that tiny, po-dunk general store to buy some supplies on our way back to the _True Love_. And they had that Bart Simpson PEZ container right next to the cash register. Your sweet tooth for some reason wanted the candy, I wanted the Bart, and thus, we bought it."

"And _you_ ate all the candy instead…" Joey continued, remembering.

"…so I gave you the Bart for posterity," Pacey finished. "Anyway, you complained – per usual –" Pacey smirked as Joey rolled her eyes at him "and asked, 'What the hell am I gonna do with a Bart PEZ container? It's not exactly something that fits into my future in any way'."

"And you said, "If you collect the whole set and keep it in mint condition, someday it could be worth a lot of money…"

"…enough to buy whatever future you desire." Pacey paused to smile uncertainly up at Joey, who was regarding him with a steady, enigmatic gaze. "It was just a thought." Glancing back over at the snow-globe, he shrugged, dismissive. "I guess it was stupid, huh?"

"It was sincere," Joey stated, her tone genuinely appreciative. "And really thoughtful. Thank you, Pacey."

Pacey broke into a grin and she responded with one in kind. "Anyway, I bought you another Bart for this collection because I'm sure you threw the other one away. It was such long time ago."

Joey visited another inscrutable glance upon him before walking over to her desk. Sliding its drawer open, she pulled out a small velvet sack. Thrusting her hand within, she rummaged a bit and then pulled out the aforementioned Bart PEZ candy dispenser. Coming back to Pacey, she held it out toward him. Surprised – shocked, actually – Pacey stared down at it nestled there in her palm, slack-jawed.

"You can have it back now," Joey told him. "You were meant to have it all along, I think."

As he reached to take it from her, their hands brushed – a lingering clasp of fingers around each other in the exchange. Once firmly in his grasp, Pacey looked at that Bart dispenser for a long moment and then glanced up, sheepish.

"I guess this means I should start my own collection, huh?"

"Nah…you don't need to. You're singular, Pace," Joey declared. "And that's a good thing. Great, even."

"Thanks, Jo," he said simply, gazing up at her, grateful.

"You're welcome," she replied, smiling down into his eyes.

As he looked up at Joey looking down at him, Pacey caught a flicker of something familiar tugging within those hazel-brown depths. Instantly, times past came rushing to the fore and he recalled that when they were together, that look – soft, melted, shimmering – always was a precursor to her reaching out to brush strands of his hair off his forehead or to her running fingers up through his mane from the back of his neck. It used to be one of her favorite things to do. She said she loved the softness of his hair beneath her fingertips and against her palms. Invariably, her mussing would lead to a kiss. Then more kisses. And way beyond kisses, after that. Joey wore that look now. But just as quickly, she discarded it.

While she hastily stepped back from him, Pacey shifted his attention to Audrey's duffel bag next to him on the bed. Grabbing it, he hoisted it into his lap to zip all the pockets closed.

When she spoke again, Joey's tone was dry, distanced. "But just in case, don't be sniffing around my new collection with intent to 'borrow'. I'm keeping it safely locked away as a precaution."

Pacey stood up, chuckling, slinging the duffel bag over one shoulder. Slipping Bart into a front pocket on his slacks, he paused and asked, "Any messages you want me to relay to Audrey?"

"Just tell her to take care, that's all. And that I hope she's all right." A brief wrinkle of concern crossed Pacey's brow and Joey shook it off, smiling. "In general."

He nodded and bent to hug her, his arms going around her waist, his large hands coming to rest just below the small of her back, clasping her to him. Joey's hands came up, stopping at the back of his neck, her fingers just short of pushing up into his hair another curtailed habitual gesture. Loitering there in that chaste embrace, Pacey inadvertently breathed in the smell of vanilla-raspberry shampoo and body wash, his nose grazing against the still-damp hair at her temple. Joey was so tall, and she fit, perfect, against his own towering height. Pacey stopped having these kinds of thoughts quite some time ago. But here, now, she really did feel so horribly _nice_ in his arms. And he felt so horribly _nice_ standing within the circle of hers. Squelching those errant thoughts from going any further, he dropped his arms and moved around her, brisk, toward the door.

"Pace," Joey called out to him. "You take care too, okay?"

He paused and cast a smile back at her. "Will do. I'll catch ya later, Potter."

"Not if I catch you first," she teased back. "See ya around, Witter."

Pacey nodded, chuckling as he closed the door behind him.

As he walked out to his car, Pacey thought about that night, just over two weeks ago, and that look he exchanged with Joey that they did not discuss back in her room tonight nor would ever discuss, in all probability. The quickest way between two points was to walk a straight line right through to it. But some things, you always maneuver around, regardless. _This_ was one of those things and they both knew it.

_So walk away, Witter. It's what you do_, Rich had said, practically taunting him to do so. But walking away did not solve anything because you just end up marching around in circles anyway, coming back to where you started. At a juke-box in a bar, sharing unspoken memories, encapsulated within a fleeting glance. In a room at a college dormitory, exchanging a look that evoked an eternity in a split-second. Or by a bed, two pairs of eyes gazing into a past suddenly vivid, obscuring the present.

_An elephant in a room – metaphorically-speaking – is a subject of which you feel great discomfort, thus rendering it invisible,_ Jen had pronounced later that infamous night. _Yet one cannot maneuver around that elephant which cannot, by all logical thought, be rendered invisible. Because even if invisible, its presence is heavily felt, regardless._

When he closed Topper yesterday, Pacey felt an extraordinary high, and the knowledge that it was something _he_ did, regardless of who got the credit in the end did not diminish that high, in retrospect. He could certainly stand to get another high like that again. Pacey slipped a recording of Emma's new song into his car's CD player. He liked the driving beat of those crazy, frenzied drums, a pulsing anthem marching him into a boundless, wide-open future.

A future he intended to walk straight toward this time, instead of away from. Snow globes and elephants, be damned.


	8. Snow Globes: Epilogue

**_Epilogue_**

On the Worthington College campus, Joey Potter rushed into Professor Hetson's class the next morning, late. Of course, Hetson did not let that pass.

But neither did she.

_Well, most of the last lesson consisted of eviscerating my personal life, and every other lesson is a rant composed of your dated theories. I'm sorry I'm late, Professor Heston, but the first half of class is usually when you reveal how bitter you are, how moronic we are, and how literature is dead. Were you thinking of moving on to something slightly more stimulating today?_

And Hetson actually smiled.

_Well, I think we've been spending too much time together, Potter, if that's your attitude. I mean, I was thinking of teaching today, but I don't know if I've got a lot to offer, what with the tenure and the published articles and all. But if you all insist on being stimulated, why don't we discuss James Joyce's description of the girl on the beach. I mean, I'm too hackneyed to illuminate the subject, but maybe you can shed some light?_ With a tiny smirk indicating something very close to reluctant admiration, Hetson trained his sights onto someone else. _Wilson... what do you think?_

The class continued. Joey was vindicated, at the very least in her own mind. Looking over at Eddie, she saw him smile and wink his approval at her. Perhaps in someone else's mind, too. Smiling to herself, she opened up her notebook, pen poised, ready to learn.

Much earlier that morning, in the large offices of one of Boston's best rising stockbroker firms, the glow of fluorescent lights mingled with the tentative pale light of the crack of dawn, washing shimmering silver over empty desks and blank computer monitors, silent phones and neat, tall piles of folders. Its sole occupant stood up from his desk to stride over to a nearby bookshelf. Pacey Witter grabbed one of its thick books and began thumbing through it, in search of a reference he was determined to find. Rich Rinaldi strolled in, briefcase in hand, suit immaculately pressed, stopping short as soon as he entered, surprised.

_Good morning_, Pacey greeted, smiling.

Rich simpered at him, yet beneath, spared a glimmer of approbation. _Good morning_.

Later that afternoon, Dawson Leery sat in a movie production office, gazing at his laptop, trying to type an e-mail and yearning to get it perfect. He stared at the screen for a long time, anxious for proper articulation, yet finding it elusive. Beginning to type, he got as far as "Dear Joey" when Todd called to him, demanding, from another room.

_Leery! Come on, break's over!_

Quickly closing his laptop, Dawson jumped up to join Todd immediately, the perfect e-mail never written, thus, never sent. 

When night came, a solitary Joey sat on her bed in her dorm room, staring at the collection of PEZ Simpsons in her hands. Placing them, one by one, into that small velvet sack, she put the bag into her desk drawer, always within reach. A soft smile graced her lips. Glancing at the snow-globe by her bedside, her smile grew sad. Picking up that glass orb, she gazed at it for a long second before bringing it over to her closet. She set it high above on a shelf. Out of sight. And out of mind.

On the other side of the city, Dawson strolled through the Hollywood set-piece that was actually a real house – _his_ house -- yet here, was just a dream. Or rather, a nightmare. They were filming a horror movie, after all. Walking over to the faux front porch – devoid of any sparkly lights or flickering candles, cups of champagne or girls that got away – Dawson settled himself, alone, on its steps. His face was expressionless as he surveyed the waning activity all around him – the crew packing up equipment, the actors and actresses cleaning off their make-up, various other production assistants scurrying around, getting every bidding done. This fantasy was now his life. And this set-piece was as real as it was going to get.

Driving toward the middle of town, Pacey gunned the engine of his red vintage Mustang as he sped along a lonely stretch of road. He liked the sound of that hidden horsepower energy, usually kept in check, restrained by speed limits and traffic lights. Thinking of things left unsaid, of pachyderms and magic balls and even fake houses, Pacey quietly laughed, then flipped on the car radio, loud. That elephant which had ambled through the room crossed the street before him, ghostly and invisible. He did not see it, but instead, zoomed right through it, leaving its spectral remains scattered on the road behind him.

Behind them all.


End file.
